


Kabanata 62: Tugisan sa Lawa

by iSlashiShipiFlail



Category: Noli Me Tangere & Related Works - José Rizal
Genre: CANON FOREVER, Fucking guardia civils, M/M, Nobody touch me, This is totally what happened of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 01:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1726148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iSlashiShipiFlail/pseuds/iSlashiShipiFlail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re much too great a man to simply rot in this country, Mr. Ibarra.” Elias intones; sweat dotting his forehead as he rowed as quickly as he can to bring the good man to safety. “You’re meant for much greater things – in foreign lands, not to be an outcast here and die in poverty.” He dimples, but his expression is heavy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kabanata 62: Tugisan sa Lawa

**Author's Note:**

> "Anonymous asked: ELIBARRA PROMPT BABE ibarra clutching a dying elias ((like how he died in the book)) and seeking revenge??? hheheh"
> 
> I’M CRYING YOU ABSOLUTE BASTARDS WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME EVERYTHING IS SAD I MADE MYSELF SAD I LOVE EVERYONE ELIBARRA IS SO STUPID OH MY GOD I’M IN PAIN ALSO I DIDN’T QUITE FOLLOW THE PROMPT BUT IDK HAVE THE THING MY LOVELIES.
> 
> REBLOG IT ON [TUMBLR.](http://islashishipiflail.tumblr.com/post/87521026280/elibarra-prompt-babe-ibarra-clutching-a-dying-elias)

 

“You’re much too great a man to simply rot in this country, Mr. Ibarra.” Elias intones; sweat dotting his forehead as he rowed as quickly as he can to bring the good man to safety. “You’re meant for much greater things – in foreign lands, not to be an outcast here and die in poverty.” He dimples, but his expression is heavy.

“Come with me.”

Elias’ heart skips a beat, before he’s shaking his head, throwing a surreptitious glance at the darkness around them and continuing to row.

“Come with me, Elias. We can escape together – we already share the same fate – _be with me._ ”

And, traitorously, Elias feels his chest ache; trying to hold his suddenly frantic heart inside. _Be with me._ The gentleman pleads, right after sharing an amorous goodbye with his **one true love**. Elias thinks he might cry.

“Let us live as brothers, my friend.” Ah. That makes much more sense.

Elias gives a wry grin, staring down at his whitened knuckles gripping the oars tight. “I can’t, Mr. Ibarra. It’s simply not my place.” Because it never was and it never will be, the beautiful Maria Clara already burnt into every possible space in the gentleman’s heart.

They row on silently. Nearing the palace, the commotion of the guards catches the young men’s attention and Elias is quick to move. “On your back.” He hisses urgently, grabbing the man by the shoulders and guiding him down the floor of their small boat.

Oh, how he wishes the sight of Crisostomo laid out beneath him was under different circumstances. He presses his palm against the other’s lips, trembling. “You have to keep quiet, I’ll keep you safe.” He swears; the urge to press his lips to the gentleman’s forehead in comfort is strong, but he gets to work. Elias covers Crisostomo in heaps of straw, praying the darkness would be enough to keep the man alive.

They reach the _polvorista_ ~~I have no idea what that is what the fuck is that google says pyrotechnician~~ and their small boat is stopped. Elias is interrogated by the watch on where he’s from.

Quick on his feet, he explains he’s from Manila and is on his way to deliver straw to the judge and the pastor without missing a beat. The watch lets him go with a warning not to let anyone on his boat for a convict had just escaped. However, should Elias find said prisoner, he will receive a reward.

He feels Crisostomo’s hand curl around his toes.

The watch describes Crisostomo’s clothes and his great command of _Kastila._

Elias grins innocently with a guileless nod, rowing away.

They change route, entering the river. Elias hauls the piles of straw off the boat and onto the riverbank, took a long bamboo and a few _bayong_ before returning to his rowing. The young men resumed talking, about little things, their pasts, the _possibilities_.

They move past ilog Pasig and reach Sta. Ana.

They pass the rest house of the Jesuits, the building triggering longing inside Elias; memories of happy days gone past, his parents, his twin sister, the promise of a future.

His gaze flits to the man in front of him; the weariness on his handsome features, the dark circles underneath his learned eyes, his chin lined with stubble after days of this, and he feels it – feels Crisostomo’s fatigue sinking into his own bones but he’d sooner die than not ensure this man’s safety.

They pass by a wide rock, a sleepy lookout – Ibarra’s hair soft and tickling his shins from where he’s huddled down. He lets out a relieved breath as they’re allowed to row past.

The sun’s risen by the time they reach the lake. In the distance, a group of _guardia civil_ nears their tiny boat. Elias pulls Crisostomo down none too gently and his breath comes out in harsh pants, dread settling heavy in his gut. He hides the other with the _bayong_ , wanting to laugh and cry because those are a lot of civil guards with their rifles and here they are in a small boat like sitting ducks and what may very well be his last interaction with the man he’s grown so fond of is throwing a stupid _bayong_ to cover his stupid beautiful face.

He shakes his head clear, breathes deeply and tries not to faint.

Elias notices the way the guards block the coast and he smoothly changes directions, the air around him feeling heavy. He takes comfort in the warmth of Crisostomo’s shoulder against his thigh and he rows, determined.

The civil guards change course to follow.

They call out for the boat.

Elias briefly thinks about turning back towards ilog Pasig.

He realizes they’re surrounded without a chance of defending themselves.

Their boat is fucking tiny.

Elias tugs his clothes off.

He leans down towards Crisostomo in guise of whispering his plans but really he’d like to look his fill of the man’s face before he inevitably dies.

The wind bites at his bare skin as he stares down at the man he’s going to give what’s left of him for.

“We’ll meet back tonight at your forefather’s grave.” Elias lies.

He stands tall, grits his teeth, and jumps.

He thinks about the gentleman on the boat, Crisostomo, whom he has to keep alive.

Elias surfaces, turns, and gives the boat a heavy kick. It rocks away, almost turning and he sees his _salakot_ fall into the water; it breaks his heart, irrationally; that Crisostomo won’t even have his stupid hat to remember him by.

He wonders how quickly it would take for him to be forgotten as the first set of bullets rain on his form. Adrenaline coursing through his body, Elias swims away triumphantly.

He’s got their attention, Crisostomo is safe.

He feels surreal, like he’s one with the water with the bullets gliding through his skin so easily as if he was melted butter.

The water around him blooms with crimson and he watches, detached.

He thinks about Crisostomo, alone in the boat. Their tiny boat.

He wonders if Crisostomo will miss him.

The sounds of their rapid gunfires grow dull in the back of his head. He snorts, maybe they shot his ears off.

His knees hit ground and he plops uselessly against land. The rocks are painful and his brain blanks filled with pain pain _pain._

It _burns. **W**_ ** _hy is he still alive?_**

His vision is blurred and he thinks he’s crying if that’s not blood on his face. Maybe both.

He thinks about Crisostomo.

He coughs, the sound terrifying – Oh, he still has his ears, then – blood spilling past his cracked lips – how long does it take to die, goddammit.

He thinks about Crisostomo and curses because he could have at least stolen a kiss for all the trouble the man was worth.

He watches the ground below him turn red, its metallic scent heavy in his nostrils.

He thinks about Crisostomo and he has to smile, because Crisostomo is a wonderful man and he would always be worth a thousand deaths.

Elias lets his eyes fall close.

“Elias!”

Ah, he can remember his voice perfectly.

“ _Elias!_ ”

Elias grumbles, blinking his eyes open with much effort because how on earth was dream-Crisostomo still annoying?

Then he feels warm fingers on his cheek. He grins up at the familiar face; even his dimples probably had heart eyes for Crisostomo, jesus christ.

Crisostomo is saying things, a lot of things, really fast and Elias can’t understand him anymore, really; but it’s nice, so he listens to the man’s voice.

And then Crisostomo is crying and it’s not so nice anymore because Elias wants him to be happy and not crying Crisostomo stop.

“C-Cris...” He murmurs through a frown, his fingers twitching and brushing against Crisostomo’s knee. He doesn’t want his last memory to be of making Crisostomo cry.

The man actually curls around Elias’ head, careful not to jostle him. Elias would have protested if he could, he’s filthy, messy with his own blood and he doesn’t want Crisostomo to look even more suspicious – doesn’t he understand what being wanted, means? Dammit, Crisostomo.

On the other hand, the man’s technically hugging him so Elias preens, even as his vision darkens and – no – he has to – he doesn’t want – “C-Crisos - !” Elias flails, trying to move his hands to pull Crisostomo up. He wants to – needs to see the other man’s face. He _needs_ to burn Crisostomo’s features into his mind. Wants Crisostomo to be the last thing he sees.

Then, he remembers. He’s not done yet. He hasn’t gotten Crisostomo to safety. Not yet. He still has – he still needs to give him his money – needs to take him to his friend – Oh god, how is Crisostomo going to survive? He needs Elias. He...

And Elias grows frantic, sobbing, speaking Crisostomo’s name in broken whispers, his throat tight. He manages to grab the man’s face in his shaking hands, his blood so bright against Crisostomo’s pale, clammy skin. He pushes on in determination and tells Crisostomo as much as he can; where his possessions are, how to get to his friend, all the things Elias can’t do for him now and he wishes Crisostomo listens and listens well because this is all it comes down to.

Everything Elias has done is all dependent on Crisostomo’s survival.

A wandering thought hums innocently in Elias’ mind, sad at the prospect Crisostomo’s going to remember him as an unattractive bullet holed mess. Something out of a nightmare.

He regrets not stealing that kiss when he was at least the mysterious, good-looking, boatman.

Now, he’s just a nasty dying body. Gross.

Crisostomo’s growing fainter.

Elias’ chest aches.

He thinks fingers intertwine with his own but that’s ridiculous.

His eyes land on the ground and his heart blooms, spotting his stupid _salakot_. Crisostomo found it! Crisostomo has it in his hand. Crisostomo –


End file.
